And They Told Me I Couldn't Act

TAKE 25

I'M NOT A stranger to men. I've had on ex boyfriend sure, but I have been on dates, I've kissed two guys, so I'm no stranger to the quirks and ticks of a guy. I've seen how boys in my school can be, but I've never met a man that has the stubbornness of a donkey.

I protest, I thresh about and argue my way but without meaning to, I end up at his place and the protest dies on my lips. How many times have I wished to be back here? It felt frustrating how your wishes can come true. 

His argument was simple and frustratingly so when we're at his place.

Even if hell's flames came to earth, Harry Wolfe will not carry me up the four flights of stairs to my apartment and he'd rather fall into the flames than let me walk them up myself.  

It doesn't help when the protests die on my lips, how easy am I to be succumbed to the longing of sharing a space with someone, or maybe not someone, because if it was someone, I'm sure I would have found them, how many castings did I go where I've met another struggling actress, how many opportunities did I have to share my space?

No - I've spend too long sharing spaces - so much so that I'd wanted my own.

But, the only exemption to the rule, was Harry. 

He gave me space, while comfort. His home had somehow began to feel like mine so why would I fight against the very thing I wanted?

Pride probably, but I was a struggling actress, I have very little pride left in me. I let him carry me to the room I occupied, watch him call Priscilla and ask her to help me get some stuff sent over while lending me some of his own very expensive clothes.

I've never in my entire life, felt so taken care of as I do in this moment.

When he's done he comes to my room to check on me, his eyes filled with warm concern.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm completely fine," I tell him.

He doesn't look reassured, instead, he glances down at my feet. "I should call the restaurant and get him fired."

My jaw drops, then I close it and there's this warm feeling that tugs at the top of my neck and to my chest. I feel my heart skip a beat and my lips tug in a smile. I glance down, pulling my injured leg closer. "It's fine, it'll heal in no time."

He nods.

Maybe it's the fact I lack pride or there's something in my expression that lowers down the guards he built, or something cracked the damn, either way his voice is softer, more raw when he says, "That song I showed you earlier," He glances down at the bed, "You're right about it. It's a more censored version than what I wrote."

I glance at him.

"Do you think," he says slowly, "you want to hear the real one?"

I nod, before I can stop myself.

Harry flushes, and he glances away. Then he heads out of my room. Within minutes he's back with the guitar.

His fingers pluck the tune, I've heard it before I realise when I used to stay with him. I've heard him play this a few times.

And then, he sings.

I've never heard him live, his concerts are ridiculously expensive for someone who's living without earning and hard to get the tickets to. So when Harry begins to sing, in person, for a moment, I'm transported back to the fan I was and my cheeks flush with the strength of his voice.

The first line starts the same way as the recording, with the bridge that's catchy and a little different from his previous albums.

Tell me something, something, something,

there's no nothing, nothing, nothing.

And then I realise a new line, something that wasn't there before and with good reason as he thinks. It's more risky, darker-themed, and sends my heart into a frenzy with every strum.

Between you and me,

In every poison,

I can hear a melody,

In every remedy,

there's truth to the misery,

In silent fingers,

your careless blisters,

I'll settle for the lies,

as long as there are no promises,

to our demise.

He swallows at the last line and then continues the song. There's no variation from the clip he shared with me at the party, but the stanza added makes a lot of difference.

When he's done his eyes are on mine, and they smile slightly. "You like it."

I nod.

His grin widens, "I guess I'll need to rerecord my solo then."

I nod again.

He laughs. "What are you thinking about, Vanessa?"

I don't know where this comes from but my fingers reach across to his face, and gently, I lean forward closing the gap between us to kiss him, very softly on his forehead.

He stiffens at the contact.

Embarrassed, a little I pull back, and then lie down on the bed. I don't say anything and my heart is pounding painfully like I've sinned. I don't look at him, but I feel the movement on the bed as he steps off.

"It was nice," I say. "The song."

"Great," his voice responds sounding bewildered a bit. Probably perplexed about the kiss. Truth was, even I don't know why I did that.

"How long does it take you to record a song?"

"It could take a whole day sometimes," Harry responds, "Vanessa -"

"You should record it quickly, your release date is coming up."

There's silence and then, Harry's face is in front of mine, his brows furrowed. "Vanessa?"

I turn around the bed.

His voice is playful now, his body leans on the bed, and I feel him before I see his face in front of mine, a grin on it. "Why are you hiding your face?"

I flush, "Can you just leave me alone?"

"Are you..." he says slowly, amusement dripping from his voice, "Fangirling that I just sang an unreleased song for you?"

I huff, and turn to look at him. At the bright eyes, tousled hair, and the smirking lips that agitated me.

"Of course not!"

He doesn't look convinced by my objection. He leans in from the corner of the bed, he's close enough that I can feel the warm tempting heat from his body. I glance to see the corner of his lip lift in amusement.

Anger fuels me, again, he's making fun of me. I turn around to glare at him but instead, I'm met with surprise with how close he is. My sharp turn stumbles him off balance too and he falls. Our heads collide and we both wince.

"Sorry," he says pulling back and rubbing his head.

I rub the top of mine and then I can't stop the grin from the rising red bump on his otherwise tan skin. Then, I start laughing at the absurdity of it all, of the whole thing, of the cut on my feet, the bump in my head which probably would resemble the bump I got when I first met him. 

AN

Welcome to 2024, the year we'll finish part 1 of this story. Hopefully x.

Cheers,

Pain.